


Protect

by AmiLu



Series: Whumptober 2019 [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: An asshole random hunter, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt Derek Hale, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Swearing, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 16:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20914958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmiLu/pseuds/AmiLu
Summary: “Never,ever,mess with my pack.”





	Protect

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5 - Gunpoint

He heaved once, twice, then spat a glob of blood. It splattered noisily on the ground, but Stile’s eyes didn’t stop making contact with the damn hunter that had just backhanded him.

He clenched his teeth and snarled, but the hunter sneered at him then smirked, smugly. Oh, how Stiles wished to have claws right then to be able to rip the man’s throat off—but he was not a wolf, like the rest of his pack, and he couldn’t.

“Now shut your goddamned mouth and sit tightly, bitch,” the hunter said, “or I’ll blow his head off. Healing or not, he’ll not survive being shot at gunpoint full with wolfsbane bullets.”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue but he did not try to move, too weak from the torture and the wolfsbane already in his system. The hunter hit him with the back of his gun, and Stiles felt his blood boil.

He hadn’t practiced enough with his Spark, not as much as he’d have liked to before trying this, but he’s always been better at learning by doing—and especially good in _succeeding_ when it was a life or death situation. So he trusted in his magic, in himself, and _wished._

The man swore and took a step back when a cloud of something hit his face, and the moment he let go of Derek Stiles was already on him with his trusty bat on hand. Without a single slice of doubt or remorse, he struck the back of the man’s head, then looked on, impassive, as the idiot hunter fell down like a rock.

He sneered at the knocked out man and picked up the gun the idiot dropped, quickly emptying it of bullets and then throwing it away. He consciously stepped on the man’s right hand—the one with which he was holding the gun, the one with which he had threatened and beaten them up—as he made his way to check up on Derek and burn off the wolfsbane poisoning him.

“Never, _ever,_ mess with my pack.”


End file.
